


Try Again, Try Again, Try Again

by sangguinne



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Do I Tag Voyeurism If We're All Irrepressibly Aware That Elias is Watching The Whole Time, Don't smoke kids, Kissing, Like... Heavy Making Out, M/M, Making Out, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangguinne/pseuds/sangguinne
Summary: Five kisses between Tim Stoker and Jonathon Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.(And one more).
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 27
Kudos: 66





	1. (1) Jon's Second, Ever, Day Working at The Magnus Institute, London

**Author's Note:**

> This will be updated sporadically, but I will fill this tag with jontim kisses if it's the last thing I do, dammit.
> 
> Title, predictably, from Mitski's _Pink In The Night._

The sky was a dull, slate grey, and spitting ever so slightly, as was par for the course around this time in January. Jon was leaning against the brick wall, his thin jacket tugged as close to him as it could be, and shivering. It was cold, of course, but more than that it was the fact he hadn't smoked since the night before, and it was really starting to get to him. It was stupid, but he’d convinced himself that he could survive the work day and just smoke when he got home, or even just on the way back. He had only just started working at the Magnus Institute the day before, and he felt it was somehow important to maintain an image. Disappearing off to the grimey little smoking area in the back alley between the bins was not something he wanted associated with that image. 

He was certainly regretting his stupid pride now. He’d been distracted most of the first day with inductions and introductions and such, but today had been long-- the work wasn’t exactly riveting-- and the weather was miserable, and his hands just wouldn’t stop twitching. They still wouldn’t now, though whether that was the cold or his need for a smoke, he couldn’t tell. But the lighter wasn’t catching, and after a couple tries he held it up and realised the lighter fluid was out. 

Great. It was just his stupid, rotten luck that this would happen. He huffed and threw his head back in frustration, and it banged painfully against the brick wall. He yelped in pain, the cigarette slipping from between his teeth to land in a puddle by his feet. 

“I guess this is useless then.” The unexpected voice made Jon jump about a foot in the air, making him bang his head against the brick wall, again, in the exact same spot. Embarrassed, annoyed, he turned to the uninvited culprit. It was--

“Tim,” Tim smiled, looking amused, still holding out the lighter to Jon. “You’re the new guy, right? Jonathan?” 

“ _Jon_.” It came out sharper than he’d intended, and he regretted it immediately, wishing he’d taken a moment to soften his tone, to not come across as so rude and brash. He had, though, and there was nothing to be done about after the fact, so he just left the unconscious frown on his face and glared at another co-worker who would have inevitably learned to hate him anyway. 

Tim seemed entirely unperturbed, however, and just kind of cocked his head to the side. He was tall-- taller than Jon by a good couple of inches-- and had an undeniably handsome face. The light rain caught in his dark hair and at the ends of his eyelashes, and seemed to almost glitter there. Jon turned his head away, annoyed. 

“Jon, then. Have you got another cigarette? I’d offer you one, but I don’t smoke,” he said, and, to Jon’s consternation, moved to stand next to him against the brick wall. 

“If you don’t smoke then why do you have-- why are you even here?” Jon was aware he was absolutely digging his arsehole-coworker-image hole deeper with every word he spoke, but he figured there was no going back from it now anyway, so. In for an inch, in for a mile. 

“I mean I used to,” Tim said, huffing out a sheepish laugh, “But now I just kinda come out every now and then when I want a breath of fresh air on company time. Or when I notice an opportunity to finally talk to the cute new guy at work.” 

Jon had been busy pulling out a new cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket, so it took a second for the words to catch up with him. When they did, though, he sputtered with shock, fumbling the pack and almost dropping the whole thing into the puddle with the first cigarette. He busied himself with pulling one out and carefully placing it between his teeth, so as to avoid looking back at this weird, handsome stranger who had apparently decided to show up out of nowhere and start flirting with him. When he finally gathered himself enough to turn his attention back to him, he found Tim watching him curiously, something in his gaze both intent and easy at once. Jon merely raised an eyebrow at him, ignoring the heat that was slowly creeping up the back of his own neck. Tim blinked, and then let out another huff of amusement when he realised what Jon was asking. He flipped open the lighter, and leaned into Jon’s space to light his cigarette. His cupped hand protected the flame from the breeze and weak rain, and the orange glow lit up Jon’s face in the warm alcove of Tim’s hands. 

“You’re awfully forward,” Jon said, once Tim pulled his light away. He took a long drag of his cigarette, feeling the tension seep out of his body with the rush of smoke in his lungs. He leaned back against the wall, pushing the wet strands of hair that had fallen into his face back. He’d gotten a sensible haircut the day before he started, and he already missed his longer hair. At this length, it wouldn’t stay behind his ears. Tim burst out laughing, and the volume of it surprised Jon enough to look back at him. 

“ _I’m_ forward?” he laughed, his eyes sparkling as he leaned against the wall so close to Jon that Jon was hype-raware of the heat of his arm against his own. To be fair, there wasn’t much room between the two big bins on either side of the spot Jon had picked. “Does that mean you ask all the boys to light your smokes for you? And here I was, getting all excited.” 

Jon felt the warmth that had settled at the back of his neck prickle at his ears, and Jon was mortified enough at the thought that Tim would be able to see his blush that it only became brighter. 

“God, you’re annoying,” Jon muttered, and felt a smile tugging at his face when Tim only laughed harder. They settled into a comfortable silence, and Jon wasn’t prepared to let go of Tim’s body heat by pointing out he had no reason to be standing outside in the cold while Jon smoked. He was about half-way done when Tim spoke up again. 

“No offence,” Tim started, and Jon tensed, preparing himself for the inevitable lecture, “But you don’t seem the Magnus type. You’re all… academic-looking, with your smart sweater-vest and glasses. Most people here are just paranormal fans and weirdos. What?”

Jon had been staring at him, and quickly turned away at Tim’s quizzical look. 

“Ah, sorry, I just.. usually this would be the point when people start telling me how bad cigarettes are and how I should quit. Nothing I don’t already know, obviously. If it was that easy…” 

“No, obviously, I get it--”

“Wait, wait, what?” Jon cut him off, sputtering, “What do you mean? The Magnus Institute is a prestigious academic institution! Its reputation precedes it! Everyone here is highly qualified and respected in the field… right?” The look on Tim’s face was making him nervous.

“Is that what Elias told you?” he said, sounding almost apologetic. Almost. The hint of amusement in his voice did not pass Jon by. “And sure, respected in the field… but you know what the field is, right? Paranormal investigations? Our only contemporaries are like… ghost hunting Youtube shows.” 

“That’s not true,” Jon rebuked, gesticulating widely, “The paranormal is a rising area of interest among the most prestigious institutions! It lies at an interesting and under-recognised intersection between psychology and--” Tim had lightly picked the cigarette from between Jon’s fingers and raised it to his lips, taking a long drag. He looked at Jon when he stopped talking, gesturing for him to go on. Jon could not for the life of him remember what he had been talking about. He couldn’t stop staring at Tim’s mouth on Jon’s cigarette. He cleared his throat. “I-- uh-- thought you didn’t smoke anymore...?”

Tim took his time breathing out a puff of smoke to mingle with the cold January air. It felt like he’d blown the heat directly beneath Jon’s skin.

“Not really, no, but I’ll give in every now and then. I can’t lecture you over the ethics of it because I didn’t really stop for any great, righteous reasons.” And then he looked directly at Jon, his eyes dark and playful, “Mostly just because non-smokers taste nicer to kiss.” 

Jon was frozen to his spot. He could feel his pulse hammering at his throat, in his fingertips. Tim was watching him carefully, and after a second began to lean in slightly. 

“Ah,” Jon croaked, when Tim was close enough that he could feel his breath against his lips, “Was that a hint?” Tim paused, and then buried his face in Jon’s shoulder, snickering. Embarrassment flushed through Jon’s body. “I-- I mean--”

“Only for you to kiss me, you idiot,” Tim laughed, and the tension was broken, so he started pulling back, out of Jon’s space, “God, you’re so funny--”

But Jon grabbed the collars of his coat and, without waiting for him to catch up, pulled him into a kiss. Their lips kind of bashed into each other, because Tim had been mid-laugh, and Jon had kind of misjudged the distance between them. The pain shot across Jon’s lips. 

“Fuck, ouch,” he groaned.

And then Tim cupped a hand under his jaw, the other at his shoulder, and pulled him back in for a proper kiss. His mouth was soft, warm, and Jon kind of melted between the wall and Tim’s body. Tim’s hand moved from his shoulder up to his neck, the shell of his ear, his fingers sort of sliding into his hair, pressing at his scalp. Jon gasped softly at the sensation, his hands still at Tim’s collar unconsciously tugging. Tim pulled back slightly, letting Jon breathe, before he pressed in again, just a little harder, so that the back of Jon’s head pressed against the wall behind him. The hand at his jaw moved, and his thumb trailed down to his chin, where it pushed lightly. Jon’s lips parted, and Tim pressed his tongue in. 

Jon pushed one of the hands at Tim’s collar up around the back of his neck, and trailed his fingers up his nape. Tim shivered against him. When Jon’s fingers reached his hair, he hesitated for a second, before very lightly tugging. The sound Tim let out vibrated against Jon’s lips, and a rush of surprised heat surged through his whole body. He moved both hands into Tim’s hair and gripped a little harder, pulling him down to press his mouth more roughly against Jon’s. Tim had to press his forearm against the wall by Jon’s head to maintain his balance, to not completely crush Jon against the wall, but his other hand that had been at Jon’s jaw was sliding lower, trailing down his throat, his chest, his waist. It gripped tightly there, and Jon couldn’t hold back the quiet sound he let out. 

“Ahem.”

Jon’s eyes flew open, and he immediately pushed Tim away. Tim, who was still dazed and had been leaning most of his weight against Jon, flailed and went tumbling backwards to land on his ass on the wet ground. He blinked up at Jon, and then turned to where Jon was staring, mortified, at--

“Rosie, I… we… uh…”

Rosie was standing a couple of metres away, looking unimpressed. The rain was still the same barely-there mist it had been all day, but she was still holding an umbrella over her head. She levelled her gaze from Jon over to Tim, still on the ground.

“Is that a new coat?” Tim asked politely. She sighed in a long-suffering way.

“Look, legally you can do whatever you want during your breaks,” she started, and Jon prayed to every God he could name for the ground to swallow him whole, “But I would like to remind you that, one: your breaks both ended about fifteen solid minutes ago. And two: there are quite frankly an excessive amount of CCTVs around this institute, and I just want to put it out there there I was happy to minimise the window on my desktop, but they also project to Elias’ computer and--” 

“Oh my god.” Jon was about to start crying. 

“--and he specifically called me to remind you that non-working time can be deduced from your pay-checks. So.” 

Jon didn’t trust himself to speak. Tim pushed himself up off the ground, brushing his trousers off leisurely. Rosie turned to him, expectantly.

“You can’t blame him, he’s new,” Tim said, “Surely you can cut him some slack for not remembering how long breaks are by his second day?”

“And you, Tim?” she said, unmoved. Tim shrugged. 

“...Sorry?” he ventured, sounding absolutely not sorry in the least. She let out another long-suffering sigh, before shaking her head and turning around to go back inside. She paused, though, and glanced back over her shoulder.

“And it is new actually. Burberry-- a birthday present. Thanks for noticing,” she said, and Jon might’ve been seeing things but he was sure she almost smiled. And then she was gone. Jon buried his face in his hands. He almost jumped out of his skin when Tim slapped a friendly hand on his back. Jon glared at him. 

“Don’t stress about it, man,” he grinned back, completely unfazed, “Rosie won’t tell, and Elias hardly ever comes down to Research-- you’ll probably never even see him! Besides--” He turned an exaggeratedly lecherous expression towards Jon, “--I’d say it was probably worth it.” And winked. Jon wanted to punch him, and after a second compromised with himself and shoved at him. Tim laughed. 

“You’re going to be insufferable to work with,” Jon groaned, and Tim just threw an arm around his shoulder. 

“Sure am! Look forward to it!” Tim grinned. Jon turned his face away and, only when he was sure Tim couldn’t see it, let the smallest smile he’d been suppressing spread across his face. 


	2. (2) A Late Night in Midsummer

Tim had never been a stranger to late nights at the Institute-- he was a perfectionist and sometimes research sucked you down deep holes that you simply couldn't dig the same way the next day. The habit was a leftover from his Cambridge days, probably, but it served him well enough at both this job and his last. He wasn't used to having company on nights like those, however, and where usually he'd be left with a dark, empty room and his computer screen, nowadays things were different. 

Nowadays there was Jon, sitting with his back to Tim, hunched over his screen in a way that really couldn't be good for his spine, the glare of the screen shining off his glasses. Jon stayed late more nights than Tim-- most nights, actually, now that Tim thought about it. When was the last time Tim had seen him leave the Institute at six? Or even anywhere close to six? He never took them up on their offers for a post-work pub trip, and there had been exactly one Institute dinner since he'd started approximately six months ago, which he had not been at. Tim knew; Tim had asked to go together. He still remembered the derision in Jon's eyes, the way he'd said he "had plans". 

Well, it was fine. Jon was simply a closed-off person, which made it all the better that Tim seemed to be the one co-worker he could actually stand. And Tim wasn’t offended by his brash nature. The opposite, probably: Tim… kind of liked it. 

He had stopped paying attention to his own screen a while ago, bored and tired and sick of searching for anything sane about modern-day flammable “vampires”; that statement was definitely being sent to the archives. No, Tim had been quietly distracted for the last ten minutes by the back of Jon’s head, sat not two metres away, completely absorbed in his own work. It was dark now, which meant it was probably past nine in the evening, and the building was deserted aside from the two of them. The lights were never left on past working hours, so the only illumination was the glaring glow of Jon’s screen, casting a haloed outline around his head. He’d taken to wearing his hair up, ever since it had grown long enough to fit into a hair-tie, which was fine! It was fine, except that it left the back of his neck exposed, the smooth skin of his nape smooth and inviting. This late in the day his hair was a mess, having fallen out of its bun and then re-tied multiple times by distracted hands, the movements of which Tim had followed each time, helplessly, with his eyes. Only his eyes. This late in the evening, though, in the quiet, unmoving darkness, it was an almost irrepressible itch. 

He took a deep breath, gathering his errant thoughts, before letting it out in an exaggerated groan, as if he’d only just stopped working and was stretching out his stiff joints. 

“I’m beat,” he said, watching Jon’s back carefully for his response, “Aren’t you?” Silence. Of course. He used his own desk as leverage to roll himself across the short distance between them, until his chair bumped lightly against Jon’s desk, next to him. There was a mug, thankfully empty, that wobbled and fell over onto his keyboard. Jon didn’t take his eyes away from the screen, simply picked the mug up and placed it upright again. He carried on scrolling through whatever he was reading. 

Tim pouted. He didn’t say anything more, though, just settled himself with his cheek resting on his fist, and continued to stare at Jon. If Jon was going to pretend to ignore him then fine-- they’d see exactly how long that game lasted. It wasn’t very long. After a couple of seconds, his eyebrow started twitching. A couple more and his ears started taking on a pretty shade of pink, and Tim was sure he was trying very hard to carry on reading but he hadn’t scrolled for a while which meant it was only a matter of seconds until--

“Tim,” Jon finally sighed, his tight shoulders collapsing. He turned a glare at Tim, but it had none of the power and hostility it would usually have been imbued with in the first half of the day. He just looked tired. “To what do I owe the pleasure.” 

“Ooh, snippy,” Tim grinned, gratified when Jon rolled his eyes, collapsing back in his chair. He raised his arms above his head and stretched, leaning his head back against the top of his chair. Tim’s eyes were automatically drawn to the long line of his throat. “Nothing much. I was just bored.” 

“You know you can just go home,” he replied, turning an unimpressed look towards Tim, and Tim wasn’t quick enough to pull his gaze back up before Jon noticed his distractedness. He frowned, shook his head, and turned back to his screen. Tim didn’t miss the way he swallowed, though, the way the colour at his ears darkened ever so slightly. “It’s late. I’m sure whatever you’re working on can wait til tomorrow, at this point.” 

Tim let out a soft laugh. He leaned closer to Jon, resting his arm along the top of his chair. His fingers were so close to his hair, from this angle. The longing to reach forwards, just that shortest distance, was thrumming under his skin.

“Pot, kettle,” he said, much quieter than he meant to. His voice was breathier than he’d expected, and the puff of his breath must have brushed against Jon’s ear, because he jumped, slightly. He didn’t move after that, though, just stayed staring at his screen. Tim waited for a moment, then hesitantly moved his hand to the back of Jon’s neck. The moment his fingers touched the warm skin, Jon went still. How to make this moment less tense, how to make this moment less tense, how to-- “Rosie has a crush on you.” Not a blatant  _ lie! _ Why did he say that!

“ _ Huh?”  _ Jon whipped his head around so fast Tim was worried for his neck. He was looking at him like he’d lost his mind. “Tim, are you okay?”

No, absolutely not. What was  _ wrong  _ with him?

“Um, I mean, no, she doesn’t,” Tim sputtered, “I mean, I, I don’t know why I said that.” 

“Tim,” Jon said, and…. and Tim was dumbfounded; Jon was laughing. Jon was  _ laughing _ , full body, shoulders-shaking and everything. It didn’t even matter than he was laughing at Tim, it just mattered that his eyes were wet with tears and his face was all scrunched up and  _ happy _ , “Tim, Rosie has a  _ girlfriend! _ ” It took Tim a second to respond, blinking, tearing his stunned gaze from Jon’s glowing face. 

“S-she what?” Tim said, and then a couple seconds more of computing exactly what the conversation had been… “Wait, she  _ what? _ Since when! How do-- how do  _ you  _ know?”

Jon just looked at him, but his characteristic judgement was softened by the lingering warmth on his face. Tim felt panicked. Looking at him felt like too much, all of a sudden, which was insane! Why was he--!

“She’s always rushing off after work on Fridays, she’s had little things around recently that could only be gifts, like the mug and the bracelets and the knitted scarf, one time she said she was getting picked up when she usually just takes the tube, I’m pretty sure her wardrobe has doubled, she--”

“I never noticed any of that!” Tim said, and Jon looked amused.

“I’m just… observant, I guess? And you, I mean, noticing isn’t really your forté, is it,” Jon was-- he was making fun of Tim? Tim was pretty sure he was making fun of him, by the glimmer in his eye and the semi-smirk on his face, although Tim had no idea what on Earth it could be for. “You really thought I’d believe Rosie being into me, you idiot.” 

Jon turned back to his screen, which Tim knew to take for him being dismissed, but Jon’s words were circling around his brain. Tim was bad at noticing things?

“What… what else is there that you think I haven’t noticed?” Tim asked, watching Jon’s reaction carefully. He simply carried on working, ignoring Tim; which was sort of an answer in itself, really. Ah. Tim smiled. 

“Jon?” he said, leaning closer. He threw his arm around his shoulder, casually, leaning his head to the side to try to meet Jon’s eye. He was gratified to feel the tension in Jon’s shoulders, the frown on his face, the way he was resolutely staring at his screen. The way his ears were starting to take on the gentlest pink again. 

“Maybe I’m just calling you stupid and that’s it,” Jon huffed, and Tim laughed softly. 

“Maybe,” Tim said, and wondered if he could get away with… “Doesn’t your head hurt, with your hair tied up like that all day?” He lifted the hand at Jon’s shoulder and poked at where his sideburn faded into his stubble, “You could let it out, now. Not like you’re doing anymore work tonight.” And then he pushed his fingers up, into the loosely bound tangle of Jon’s hair. The movement was enough that the hair tie, clinging on just barely at this point, finally fell to the floor. His hair tumbled down around his face in soft waves. 

“Timothy Stoker, I hate you,” Jon grumbled. Tim, running his hand through his hair, just leaned in and pressed his mouth at the jut of his jaw, by his ear. 

“Jonathan Sims, I’ve very much noticed that you don’t,” he replied, trailing his mouth lower to press a soft kiss just under his jaw. Jon shivered. Tim smiled. He raised his other hand up to the side of Jon’s neck, stroked his thumb down his Adam’s apple to settle at the hollow between his collarbones. Jon’s hands were clutching the edge of his desk. 

“Tim,” he gasped, when Tim opened his mouth and dragged his teeth along his skin. “Tim, we-- the cameras--”

“Ah, c’mon, it’s too dark in here for the cameras to pick up, and besides it’s like nine in the evening, I doubt anyone’s watching,” Tim replied, and then paused. He leaned back to look into Jon’s eyes, raising his eyebrows in mock-scandalisation. “Unless you’d like that?” 

“ _ Tim!”  _ Jon yelled, outraged. He pushed Tim away hard enough that his chair went rolling back a little, and then even further with the force of Tim’s throwing his head back in laughter. Jon’s whole face had gone bright red, in mortification, in rage, and it was positively charming. Tim rolled his chair back over, still laughing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, clutching at Jon’s arm, “I’m sorry, I will never imply the illustrious Jonathan Sims has a kink ever again.” The force of Jon’s glare was significantly undercut by the still-vivid strength of his blush. It had spread down his neck, and Tim wondered exactly how far it went. 

“I cannot believe I’m attracted to someone like you,” Jon grumbled, under his breath, but certainly loud enough for Tim to hear. Tim grinned wide, dragging his chair right next to Jon’s again, but it was awkward and there was still too much space between the two of them. Jon watched him realise this, and a wary expression crossed his face as an idea sprang into Tim’s head. “Whatever you’re thinking--”

Tim stood up and dropped himself into Jon’s lap. There was no armrest on Jon’s chair so he easily threw his legs over either side of Jon’s hips and grinned down at him. Jon’s face, still inhumanly red, passed through maybe seven different emotions before settling on some sort of flustered resignation, and he lifted his hands to settle them as Tim’s waist. 

“This might as well happen, at this point,” he said, obviously trying to fake some semblance of composure. With the rough tone of his voice, it failed drastically. Tim cupped his jaw with both hands and dragged his face closer; forwards, up. He didn’t kiss him yet, though, just watched, from centimetres away, the anticipation in Jon’s face morph into embarrassed frustration. Even in the blue semi-darkness, he was captivated by the fine lines of his lashes, the fathomless darkness of his eyes. The course stubble against his skin, the delicate shape of his mouth. The heat of him that Tim could feel under his palms, under his thighs. 

“You’re very pretty, you know,” Tim whispered softly, breathing the words over Jon’s lips. Jon frowned, and tried to close the distance between them, but Tim held his face steady. Jon raised his hands up to hold Tim’s wrists and rubbed his thumbs along the inside of them, followed by the slow scratch of his nails; the pleasure that rushed through Tim’s body had a soft breath slipping past his lips. 

“Tim,” Jon said, low, “Kiss me.” 

Tim did. It was slow, and deep, Jon’s lips parted from the start, his hands trailing down Tim’s wrists, arms, along his elbows, dropping back down to his waist. Tim pulled back very slightly only to change the angle and press in again, just as hard. His fingers were at Jon’s nape, caressing the soft skin there like he’d been daydreaming of doing all day. Jon’s hands at his waist rubbed up and down his sides until they got to the top of his jeans where his shirt was tucked in. Tim broke away, breathing hard into the tiny space between their lips, but then Jon gripped his waistband, his thumbs slipping just under, and surged against Tim’s hold on his face to close the gap again. He passed his tongue along Tim’s bottom lip before pressing his teeth down, gently. 

“Jon,” Tim gasped, his hands losing their grip to slip, instead, into his hair. Jon hummed, and Tim could feel the vibration along his own lips as Jon’s teeth were replaced by his mouth, sucking lightly at his bottom lip. Tim clutched at Jon’s hair for something to cling to, harder than he’d intended, and accidentally pulled Jon’s head back, away. Jon blinked, slightly glassy eyed. 

“Ah,” Jon said, a slow guilt creeping up his face, “Sorry, I shouldn’t-- I should’ve asked--”

“No!” Tim interrupted, panicked, “No, no, I-- that was good, fuck--” He pulled at Jon’s hair again, and watched, dazed, as Jon’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting around a sudden gasp. He waited for Jon to blink his eyes open again, before scratching his nails down his scalp, harder than before, and watched, rapt, as Jon swallowed, pressing his lips shut tight against whatever sound would have slipped out. Jon’s hands pulled at Tim’s waistband, dragging him closer, further into his lap. He was breathing hard, but a distracted smirk still spread across his face. 

“ _ I’m  _ the one who likes watching, huh?” he teased, and Tim laughed softly, leaning forwards to kiss him again, on the corner of his mouth. 

“Prick,” he said, and Jon huffed out a laugh too. Tim used the hand in Jon’s hair to pull his head back, his other hand moving to his collar, tugging it further open. He moved his mouth down to his neck, and dragged his teeth along his racing pulse where the skin was thinner. When he replaced them with his tongue and sucked lightly, finally,  _ finally _ , the quietest moan slipped past Jon’s lips, and his hands at Tim’s waistband clenched, grasping at his hips, his sides, jostling his shirt until it spilled out from where it had been tucked. He pushed his hands up under Tim’s shirt, leaving behind trails of heat along his sides and back. Tim continued down his neck, pulling his collar aside, until he reached the jut of his collarbone, and sucked a bruise into the hollow behind it. 

“Tim,” Jon said, between pants, a hand at the small of Tim’s back, lower, and the other up at the back of his neck. Tim pulled back, breathing heavily, to see Jon watching him through dark, lidded eyes. “We can’t fuck in the Institute.” 

Tim couldn’t help it; he laughed. It was the way Jon said it, trying to sound stern even despite… everything else. Jon frowned.

“I’m being serious,” he said, even though he was breathing hard, flushed from his ears down to his chest, probably further. “Tim.” Tim pulled his eyes back up to his face again. 

“Right, right, because of the cameras,” Tim said, teasing, “Because what if Elias has nothing better to do at ten p.m. than watch his employees get off.” 

“One of these days I’m going to just push you in front of a bus,” Jon said, and Tim laughed again. “But, um, my place isn’t that far, if… uh, I mean, you don’t have to, obviously--”

Tim leaned forwards and pressed his mouth over Jon’s nervous babble. 

“Sure,” he said, pulling back, and smiled at Jon’s pleased face, “Though I’m just not sure it’ll be the same without the knowledge of Elias’ constant voyeurism--”

Jon pushed him off his lap and Tim went tumbling to the floor, laughing the whole way down. 


End file.
